


Oneirodynia

by Anonymous



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 21:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2203488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps the reason he cannot stop himself from returning night after night is the lack of evidence left behind, the idea that Tony will never know, will never be as marked by these encounters as Loki is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oneirodynia

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Loki finds himself obsessed over Tony and visits him every night when Tony's asleep and fucks him into the mattress while he's sleeping. Loki finds he can't stop and keeps coming back. He makes sure Tony believes it all to be some dark, twisted nightmare until one nightly visit, as Loki rapes him, Tony wakes up and fights him. 
> 
> But then, Tony stops fighting him.

In his sleep Tony Stark is far smaller man than he is when awake. Awake he has such strength of personality he seems far taller than he is, such presence as to fill whatever room he is in, regardless of who else may be there. Asleep, he is far more fragile.

Loki steps out of the shadows, already weaving the familiar spell to keep him in his slumbering state, setting it over him before he crawls over him on the bed.

"Beautiful," he tells the sleeping man, habitual and fond, and he likes to imagine the restless movement behind Stark's closed eyelids means he hears the word within his dreams.

He undresses slowly, savoring the anticipation of it – there are nights when he has no patience, nights he desires to have Stark as quickly as possible, takes him as roughly and without care as he did the first night – but tonight he finds amusement in removing his clothing piece by piece, his movements sensuous as if Stark were awake and aware to watch him. 

He has to smile at the thought of his possible reaction to the myriad ties and buckles. Midgardian clothing is so very simple in comparison – Loki can strip Tony in less than a minute and without magic of any kind. It is, of course, helped by familiarity, but the point remains.

He indulges himself momentarily imagining Tony dressed in the wear of a noble of Asgard, lingering still more on the idea of stripping him out it, piece by piece. There's hardly anything to it where Midgardian nightwear – and day, on those occasions Tony falls to exhaustion before he can finishing undressing – is involved. The easy access Loki approves of, but he is rather disappointed by the lack of opportunity for play.

He runs his fingers over Tony's face, slack with sleep, studying it. The shape of his eyes, his nose, the curve of his cheeks, his mouth... He is sweet in his sleep, so soft and open Loki finds himself calling him Tony more often than Stark – it is, after all, a pet name, and Loki does so enjoy his pet.

He could wake him, he thinks; manhandle him into positions impossible to manage without magic with him unaware. Mostly he thinks he would enjoy the awareness in Tony's eyes. All the methods by which he can circumvent his unconscious state and have his body still docile and pseudo-willing are no match.

He had such things the first night, before he had truly grasped how to keep Tony unaware. Back when he had thought it would only be the once, that one taste of Stark's body would fulfil him and he need not bother with enjoyment. Everything had been an excuse to hurt Stark, make him bleed, and come morning Loki had turned it into one long confused nightmare, already half-suspecting he would desire to return.

The _noises_ he'd made; Loki could have pleasured himself for a month to the memory of those alone if he hadn't had something so much more satisfying.

It hadn't even been his original plan upon entering. The sight of Stark – usually so bold, so deceptively large with character – to see him so small and vulnerable with sleep, his body open and defenseless... It had been an invitation and Loki had taken it gladly.

(But oh, his _eyes_.)

Still, he is used, now, to having Tony Stark pliant and still beneath him, trusting in his lack of awareness. His hands remain gentle, enjoying the contrast in texture between the finely cut and shaped beard and the softness and warmth of parted lips, between the smoothness of the skin at the hollow of his throat and the coarseness of the hair tangled between his fingers as he pushes Tony's head back for better access.

He is so very lovely, and he is _Loki's_. The red-haired woman no longer sleeps beside him, a fact that fills Loki with almost as much satisfaction as any joining of bodies could. Her presence had never stopped him – he had in fact taken even more pleasure in marking her beloved inside and out while she slept not even a foot away – but it had started to leave a somewhat sour taste in his mouth, knowing his claim would be wiped away come morning and hers would remain; that when he woke Tony would be hers again.

He had started to lose focus on the pleasure of the act, irritated with how much her legitimate claim bothered him, had become far rougher with Tony than he should have been, enough that he started to doubt the effectiveness of his sleeping spell against the noise of Tony's screams beneath him. He wonders if they sank into her subconscious, if that is why they no longer share a bed. He hopes so.

He had to reteach himself how to enjoy Tony's body after she had gone, almost too used inflicting pain to hurt them both. He supposes he was lucky he left no damage he could not correct, for mortals are so very fragile. He can be kind now, though – for a rather stretched value of 'kind'.

He runs his hands over Tony's shoulders, admiring the musculature, down his arms and to his hands, covered in the scars and calluses of hard work. He admires the shape and feel of his fingers, laced between his own, the delicacy in the structure of tendons and bones.

Tony's hands are priceless, the means by which he crafts his world, and Loki could break them with just the wrong amount of pressure in the right place. He could crush them so easily he wouldn't even notice. He thinks about it as he presses his mouth to them instead, kissing each fingertip before turning his attention elsewhere.

Tony will recoil when Loki touches the center of his chest no matter how gentle he is, makes a high, distressed noise in his throat at any touch to the seam of flesh and metal. Loki supposes he would recoil too if his heart were so vulnerable, so exposed, and lets it pass. He no longer has the same interest in Tony's bizarre metal and magic heart that first brought him here and has come to prefer exploring the extensive scarring that surrounds it, evidence of his mortal's intense desire to live.

He presses closer and slides his hands down to rest against Tony's waist, stroking over contours of bone, into the groove between hip and thigh, smiling at the mortal's restless little head movements, his wrinkling brow.

Tony jerks a little when he lifts his hips and rests them against his thighs. He does the same when Loki presses his fingers between his cheeks, or when he strokes the curve of his thigh, or the back of his knee.

Even sound asleep he will make noises of appreciation when Loki strokes him, when he presses his teeth against his throat or traces the curve of his ear with his tongue, and he gives the same breathy gasp every time at the first touch to his prostate, though it might be very different if he were truly awake and aware. 

It undoubtedly _is_ very different with an awake and aware Tony Stark, but it doesn't matter. Loki loves the cry Tony gives when asleep, helplessly willing in its ignorance.

He twists and presses his fingers with careless familiarity and smiles at the shuddering intake of breath his movements provoke.

He doesn't have to prepare Tony – with enough lubrication Loki can simply spread his cheeks and press in, though he knows it probably wouldn't be truly comfortable for long if Tony were awake – but he enjoys the little noises of pleasure he can provoke. He can spend hours on the task if he so desires and has done so, once or twice, out of curiosity, to see if Tony could come from the stimulation of his fingers alone. (He can, though it takes time and patience and the sounds Tony makes are more pained than anything by the time of his release. He'd made pitiful noises of exhaustion after, when Loki pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his cock, and his mouth had tasted of tears when Loki was finally finished with him.)

It is a fond memory, the sight of him so wrecked and well-used in the pre-dawn light, but Loki doesn't often have the patience to repeat it, too eager to enjoy all he can as soon as he can and in any way that he can. He has taken Tony with no lubrication at all and hissed in pained pleasure at how tight and uncomfortable it had been until blood had eased the way, and he has taken him with so much it leaked out as he fucked in, and he enjoyed both equally in different ways. He leaves no evidence of his presence, no bruises, no pain, not the tiniest speck of blood or seed to stain the sheets, so how he goes about satisfying himself can hardly matter. 

Perhaps that is why he cannot stop himself from returning night after night – the lack of evidence left behind, the idea that Tony will never know, will never be as marked by these encounters as Loki is.

He presses his lips briefly to Tony's slack mouth, sinking into him with a sigh. Perhaps it is nothing more than the way his body welcomes Loki's so very nicely.

Tony tosses his head fretfully in his sleep as Loki presses deeper and deeper inside him and Loki hums thoughtfully, biting lightly at the side of his neck as he settles, amused as ever at how easy it is to mark the human. He'd been startled the first time he'd broken the skin without meaning to, the taste of blood flooding his mouth when he'd merely intended to bruise. Now he is amused, if not somewhat aroused by the fragility of his darling toy, delighting in how easy it is to write his ownership upon the canvas of Tony's flesh. Such a pity he will have to undo all his work by morning.

"So delicate," he mocks gently, his voice loud in the otherwise silent room.

It will not stay that way – nobody has ever accused Loki of not liking to hear his own voice. He is loud with his pleasure and praises Tony near constantly during these encounters precisely _because_ the man himself cannot hear it. Loki feels free to tell him any manner of things on occasion, not just related to the warmth and beauty of the body spread out before him.

Perhaps that freedom is what brings him back.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Tony hisses softly when Loki twists his hips to seat himself as deeply as possible – that is new, Loki thinks, but pays it no mind, murmuring his enjoyment into Tony's bared throat instead. Exquisite, this man, this fierce little being, able to meet the eyes of gods and laugh. Loki wants to circle his throat with bite-marks, wants to carve his name into his skin, wants to fill him so utterly he can do nothing but think of Loki for the rest of his fleeting mortal life.

"How lovely you are," he tells Tony's insensate body, shuddering with need to be back inside even as he is withdrawing. "I could spend an eternity within you and it would not be enough; you are _perfect_ , how your body clings to mine, desperate to keep me –"

Tony's entire body jolts around him as he thrusts back in, as if on the edge of waking, his chest heaving, his legs jerking a little within Loki's grip, and Loki buries further words into another bite against his throat, next to the first.

He closes his eyes and glories in the yielding warmth, the way the movements of his body makes the other shake, limp and unaware, occasionally moving with him in ways almost enough to trick him into thinking some reactions aren't entirely unconscious.

There is a soft noise wrung from the body beneath him and he almost dismisses it entirely, wondering aloud how Tony might look if Loki were to take him spread eagled upon the shining floor of Odin's hall – until he looks upon Tony's face and sees his eyes opening.

Everything seems to freeze for a moment while Tony blinks at him and Loki tries desperately to work out how he has managed to break free of the spell holding him in his sleep, mind racing, though it is probably his fault, a subconscious desire to have Tony awake. 

The stillness breaks as Tony lashes out, fighting with raw instinctive passion – if he has ever been formally taught he has forgotten it all in this moment. He claws at Loki with his neatly clipped, uselessly short nails and when Loki grabs his wrists and pins them down he simply puts even more futile effort into twisting and struggling beneath him, bucking and straining uselessly against Loki's body in his attempts to free himself.

Too used to having no need to censor himself Loki's moan in response is loud and shameless and Tony stills beneath him, staring up with wide eyes as Loki pants open-mouthed, trying to regain control.

"Oh, you feel so good," he breathes before he can stop himself, leaning in and nipping at Tony's neck again, too used to doing anything he wants whenever he wants to stop merely because his partner is conscious of it all. "So lovely –"

Tony yelps when Loki bites his lip and nuzzles his newly bloodied way into his startled mouth, rocking inside him with small, steady movements.

"There is nothing better than being within you," Loki hears himself vowing earnestly. He forces himself to stop, hovering over Tony, close enough he can feel rapid puffs of air against his face, see his pet's stunned expression. He holds his gaze as he withdraws almost entirely, until only the head of his cock remains inside, and waits.

Every second is an eternity to stay still while remaining so inside him, draws out like a blade across the flesh, and Tony is no more comfortable with the stalemate than he is. Ten seconds in he apparently can't stop himself from making a frustrated noise and Loki is so tempted to just _move_ , words cannot express it.

It feels like the longest minute of Loki's entire life before Tony starts shifting restlessly, trying once more to free himself or trying to take Loki further in and get this encounter over with one way or another, the end result is much the same. He almost _whines_ with discomfort and Loki laughs with something like relief and pushes forward again, sliding deep inside with a groan of pleasure.

" _Beautiful_ ," he says, so fervent he is startled by how embarrassed he is when he remembers Tony can actually hear him. "You are exquisite, utterly sublime – _oh_ –"

The movement of Tony's hips is a revelation, as is the noise he makes, somewhere between a hum and moan when Loki slows his movements to enjoy every second of the glide in and out. Even better still are the choked gasps Tony gives when he speeds up again, louder and louder the faster and harder Loki moves than before.

Something – pride, perhaps – keeps Tony from begging for Loki's hand, but Loki is fascinated by how different, how much _more_ it all is with Tony awake, and can no more keep himself from taking Tony in hand than he could stop these little visits in the first place.

"I would have you like this always," he says, watching Tony with rapt attention. "Writhing upon my cock, your very voice stolen by the sheer pleasure of taking me within you, helpless and shameless with it, unable even to beg for more no matter how much you want to -"

Every little twist of Loki's wrist prompts a reaction – how could he have been content not to have this responsiveness? – the easy slide of his fingers and the flick of his thumb over the sensitive head of Tony's cock making him moan, and Loki studies him zealously, coaxes louder noises and ever more desperate movements until Tony is lost entirely to the pleasure he is giving him, voice breaking and failing under the strain, as promised.

Glorious, the sight and sound of his sweet little pet coming undone around him, and Loki fears he'll never be fully satisfied with his sleeping body again. 

His own orgasm takes him almost entirely by surprise, so busy with Tony's spilling over his hand as he takes his open mouth in a kiss. He presses closer as if to fuse them into one being, hips faltering in their rhythm, and shudders and shudders as he spills deep inside, gasping desperately against Tony's mouth.

It feels like hours before he can bring himself to move again, peel himself away and admire the mess he's made of the famous Iron Man. The sight of him is beautifully obscene, lying with legs splayed, bruises on his hips, thighs, wrists and neck, his own come drying on his belly and Loki's trickling down his thighs - Loki would have it painted if he could bear to let another see it. Such a pretty mess, and he could so easily walk back over and –

He forces himself to stay where he is and concentrate on dressing, one ear on Tony's slowing pants for air.

"Gonna wipe this from my memory too?" Tony rasps, his voice wrecked, and Loki is torn between feeling smug and feeling alarmed – how long has he known, or was that a lucky guess?

"I'm considering it," he says instead, unable to keep his eyes from drifting – he is very proud of that collar of bruises, frankly, it would be a pity to have to erase it – and meeting Tony's. "It could be a dream," he offers, trying very hard to stop imagining rolling his pet over and sinking his teeth into the back of his neck as he thrusts into him again. He'll feel wonderful, Loki knows, already loose and fucked open and slick with come – 

Well. Perhaps he doesn't try _that_ hard.

"Perhaps this is all a hideous nightmare that will fade away," he says, watching Tony's expression, and can't decide what he wants Tony to say.

_You suspect already, don't you, that I've done this before. I wonder if you can guess just how many times._

"Let me keep it," Tony says, ignoring him, shifting slightly as if to get up and falling back with an air of exhaustion – it is definitely smugness Loki feels at that.

 _He'll tell,_ warns a more sensible, less impulse-driven part of his brain. _You come back again and the rest of his so called Avengers will be waiting._

Let him tell, Loki thinks with sudden fierce satisfaction. Let everybody know that Loki has had him, that he is Loki's.

"I'll see you again soon," he says instead and disappears before he can catch the look on Tony's face, allowing himself imagine it as he will.


End file.
